


Just My Luck

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blogger Bitty, Celebrity Jack, Fluff, Jewish Bitty, Jewish Jack, M/M, Mistaken Identity, meet cute, nhl jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bitty runs into an old acquaintance in the deli line at the supermarket.  A very attractive old acquaintance whose name he can't remember, but he makes pleasant conversation anyway, like the good, southern man he was raised to be.  It's not until a week later, when Ransom and Holster drag him to a hockey game that he realises the acquaintance might not have been that at all.





	Just My Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this fic came from [this](https://billypoindexter.tumblr.com/post/164430848292/so-i-was-watching-say-yes-to-the-dress-yesterday) prompt. The fic is essentially, Bitty sees a man in the supermarket he thinks looks familiar, and assumes he knew him, so he strikes up casual conversation. It's not until much later he realises his mistake.
> 
> Disclaimer: The world of check, please and the characters are the work of the amazing and talented Ngozi, who is kind enough to let us all play in her world. <3

“Yes. Yes, momma, I wouldn’t forget the…uhg. No. Mother, I have been baking since I was knee high to a…” Bitty sighed as his mother carried on in his ear, the phone pressed against his shoulder as he attempted to navigate the aisles with sideways vision. He stopped at the end, leaning on the handle, sighing quietly to himself until she was done. “Alright. Yes, I’ll send you a text when it’s done. You have a good night too. Love to coach. Mm. Bye.”

He glanced over to the deli to see the queue had shortened considerably. Only three people stood in his way, two older ladies, and a small child who looked about ten, nervously clutching his number. Bitty parked his trolley near a small wire island rack of bread, then reached for the little machine dolling out numbers when his hand collided against someone else’s.

“Oh lord I’m…” Bitty realised he was staring up into the sleepiest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Something familiar struck him, too, about the man’s face, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was attractive, so it was unlikely Bitty would forget a face like that—chiselled jaw, sharp nose, broad shoulders, thick waist and thighs. He was wearing a t-shirt—a faded red with markings that were no longer readable, and a pair of jeans.

“Hey,” the man said, in a tone that said he was familiar with Bitty.

Bitty flushed. “Hi, there.” Again? Maybe? His head was fuzzy.

“Go ahead,” the man said, his voice tinged with an accent. He gestured toward the machine, so Bitty could take the number poking out of the slot.

“No, no, honestly, you go. I’m still not sure what I’m going to pick.” It was a lie, but the man looked so familiar, Bitty was going to drive himself up the wall if he couldn’t figure it out. He was caught momentarily breathless as the man grinned, then reached past him, taking two numbers, and handing Bitty the second.

“I’m only getting pastrami,” he said with a quick wink.

Bitty took it, and shook his head. He knew him from somewhere, obviously. Probably a friend of Lardo’s—maybe someone she’d hired to model for her class or…something. Or a friend of Shitty’s. Either way Bitty knew how terribly rude it was to just pretend like they hadn’t met before so…

“Erm. So. How have you been?”

The man raised a curious brow, rubbing the back of his neck, but shrugged and said, “I’ve been well. Busy this season, you know, but when is it not. How are you?”

“Oh, great. My momma’s been gettin’ on me lately about this dang hamentashen recipe she wants to include for our holiday blog post. She’s all up in arms because the last time I used my Aunt Judy’s recipe for the jam and lord, you’d’a think the world was comin’ to an end.”

The man chuckled. “You…run a blog?”

So clearly they didn’t know much about each other, which would make sense that Bitty didn’t remember his name, even if his face was so familiar it was making him want to cry. “Yeah. Well, I mean…I do other things, obviously. But we do a little blog which lets you make southern food kosher.”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? Now that my papa’s retired he and my mother have been trying to keep kosher…he cheats. He can’t seem to give up cheeseburgers but…” The man laughed and shrugged. “I should show them. I’m not sure papa would be any good at southern food, but he’d probably give it a try.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Bitty said, and shuffled his feet. “Um. The blog’s called Nosh. There’s about a thousand other blogs with the same name, but I think we’re the only southern kosher one out there so…” He shrugged, and was rewarded by the man’s grin going wider.

“I’ll let them know. Thanks. I…” His words were cut off when his number was called, and Bitty felt a wave of disappointment in his belly when the man stepped up to the counter to order.

Biting his lip, he wondered how bad it would be to get a quick photo of him to show him round to his friends and see who, exactly, knew him. It was from somewhere, Bitty knew it. The cadence of his voice, the sleepy eyes, the way his mouth set into a small frown when he was thinking. 

Bitty also wanted to know which of his friends was keeping a gorgeous man like this in their pocket without at least letting Bitty know more than the one time.

Maybe it was a party. Maybe it was some Kegster back at Samwell when…

He stopped himself before it got out of control. The man stepped back and gave the neatly wrapped little stack of pastrami a pat. “Well…” He shrugged helplessly, and Bitty sighed.

“It was great to see you,” Bitty said.

“You too euh…”

Bitty felt a slight measure of relief when he realised the man didn’t know his name. “Eric,” he said. “Well…Bitty,” he added, in hopes that maybe the guy would remember him from his hockey nickname.

“Jack.” Jack offered his name with a warm, calloused palm pressing against Bitty’s, and lord…that was nice. Really nice.

“Hope to see you again soon,” Bitty said.

Jack’s hand moved back, a slow drag, almost painful as he stepped back, rubbed the back of his neck again, then turned and walked off. Bitty blew out a puff of air, then turned, startled, when he realised they’d called his number twice. Flustered and pink in the cheeks, he hurried to the counter, slapped his number on top, then said, “I’ll take the pastrami.” He watched it being sliced for nearly a full minute before he realised that wasn’t what he’d come here for at all.

*** 

“Bits, my dude.” Holster flopped onto Bitty’s sofa, slinging his feet up on the table until Bitty smacked him on the ankle. “I have a surprise for you.”

Bitty sighed, stretching his legs out on the floor under the table. He leant his head back against Holster’s arm, and let out a happy sigh as his friend’s fingers dug through his hair. “You’d better. Do you realise how many fires I pulled your ass out of this week?”

“Yeah yeah, you have my eternal gratitude and undying loyalty and you have access to this sweet bod any time you…”

“Thank you, thank you, and no. What do you have for me.”

Holster shifted, wriggling as he dug into his pocket for a folded up bit of computer paper. He waggled it at Bitty until Bitty grabbed it. “Fucking schweet seats, bro. You, me, Ransy, and either Ford or Lardo depending on who takes the shift that night.”

Bitty frowned at the faded writing printed. “Are these…”

“Hockey tickets, glass seats. Rans’ dad got us a fucking amazing discount. It’s a Tuesday night game, which I figured is good for you. Ransom plans to try and seduce Tater with some sign he and Lards have been working on for the past week.”

“Tater?” Bitty asked, wrinkling his nose.

“God, puh-lease pull your head out of your fucking cookbook for like ten seconds and watch at least one Falcs game. I’m begging.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “I watched two weeks ago.”

“Right. That fucking disaster where the Leafs fucking crushed us. It wasn’t even a good game. Both Zimms and Tater were scratched, and we lost St Martin in the first ten minutes. That doesn’t even count.”

Bitty shrugged. “Okay fine. Tuesday, and I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Holster sighed, planting a wet kiss on Bitty’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I also made you honey challah for tonight, and for French toast in the morning.”

Holster groaned and flopped backward. “This is why you’re the best.”

“Oh honey,” Bitty said with a wink, “I know.”

*** 

Tuesday came round quicker than Bitty expected. He’d been so wrapped up in his work after graduating, he didn’t give time to anything except trying to get his blog and books off the ground. But it was nice to be out with his friends again. The tickets were amazing, and Bitty had missed the stark cold feel of the ice a few feet away, even if this time he wasn’t on it.

It was a decent crowd for mid-season on a Tuesday, and he felt a little thrill when the lights dimmed, and music began, and the teams started to take their place on the ice. The Falcs were on the far end of the arena, and Bitty took a moment to appreciate all the nice, round, pert hockey butts sticking in the air with their stretches.

It made him realise, for a moment, that he might be just a tad…lonely. Lonely then made him think about the run in with the cute Pastrami Guy at the deli. Jack, Bitty thought.

“Hey, do you know anyone named Jack?” he asked, leaning in toward Ransom.

Ransom raised his brow. “Bro. I know like forty Jacks. Why?”

Bitty shrugged. “I don’t know if he was your friend—he was someone’s. It was at the deli the other day. We had one of those awkward, I think I know you but I can’t remember from where conversations?”

“Was he hot?” Ransom asked.

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, it’s not always like that,” he groaned. “But also yes, he was absurdly hot. Like, so hot I wanted to cry.”

Ransom smirked. “Nice. I don’t actually know any Jacks that gorgeous though. What did he look like?”

Bitty shrugged. “Uh. Kind of pale, tall, thick, nice ass, black hair, amazing blue eyes. Like…that kind of icy colour, you know? Nice mouth…” He trailed off, then flushed when he saw Ransom’s smirk grow wider.

“You didn’t even get digits?”

Bitty shook his head. “No. I felt like an ass since I couldn’t remember how the hell we met. I thought maybe he modelled for Lardo or something, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Ransom shrugged. “Can’t help you, dude. Sorry.”

Bitty shrugged, sighing softly as he leant back in his seat as the Falcs all started to rise, heading for the handful of pucks that had been tossed on the ice so they could start taking shots at the goal. “It’s fine. Just my luck, anyway.”

“No worries, my dude. If you wanna get laid, we can get you laid.” Ransom slung his arm round Bitty’s shoulder, and Bitty managed a smile, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. Getting laid was all well and good—and he didn’t exactly have trouble with that. After his first few awkward relationships, he’d opened up enough that casual sex came a little easier. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He was lonely, he was tired, he wanted his happy ever after—or at least some version of it.

He wasn’t entirely sure he was going to have it with some random stranger buying deli meat, but it couldn’t hurt to want a little. Bitty reached down between his feet for his drink, and he looked up when Ransom gasped.

In front of the glass were two large bodies, their backs to the crowd, heads dipped in low to speak to each other. Their jerseys read Zimmermann and Mashkov—and Bitty realised why Ransom was losing his mind.

“Knock on it,” he said, elbowing his friend. “Come on, you came all this way to seduce him with your sign or whatever.”

Ransom looked like he wanted to puke, but apparently Holster wasn’t about to let this go because he grabbed Ransom’s arm with the sign in one hand, and with the other he banged on the glass.

The two hockey players startled, then turned.

It was like time slowed down. It took Bitty a minute to realise what was happening, why the deep blue eyes of the Falcs Captain was staring at him, and why Bitty’s heart was racing in his chest. 

Zimmermann.

Jack Zimmermann.

He wasn’t a friend of Ransom or Holster. He wasn’t a guy who had modelled once for Lardo.

He was a fucking NHL star. A hockey captain.

Bitty wanted to melt into the seat and die.

Instead, like an idiot, he raised his hand in a sheepish wave. His heart jumped into his throat when Jack’s mouth quirked into a soft, chirpy smile and he raised his gloved hand back at Bitty. Bitty felt his face go flaming hot, and a nervous laugh bubbled up as Jack turned fully toward him.

He saw Mashkov lean in to say something, and whatever Jack said back was too low for Bitty to make out. But then he winked, and pointed back to the ice like, ‘hey, I gotta get back to my game,’ and Bitty just nodded like some kind of _fool_ who was just casually chatting to someone on their way to work.

“What. The fuck. Just happened,” Holster demanded.

Bitty swallowed and turned his wide, shocked eyes to Ransom who was staring at Bitty. “Don’t tell me…”

Bitty nodded, miserable and confused and a little horrified because now he was replaying every second of his interaction with Jack in the super market. “Hey, how have you been,” and, talking about his stupid blog like Jack Zimmermann gave a shit and oh god he must think he’s a complete idiot who…

“Dude,” Ransom hissed, leaning into Bitty, “he’s still fucking watching you. Oh. My. God.”

*** 

Bitty couldn’t concentrate on the game. Not when it was Jack playing. Not when Bitty had made a total ass of himself in front of some guy who had posed naked for the ESPN Body issue. How had Bitty not recognised him? Bitty had heard plenty of stories about people running into celebrities and not realising it. Holster and Ransom both swore up and down they rode the subway with Matt Damon once and didn’t realise it until he was getting off but…

But.

Bitty should have known. He should’ve had at least some idea.

It didn’t help that Jack kept watching him. Now that he knew where Bitty was, whenever he had a second of free time, he was _looking_. Bitty swore he was going to explode from the amount of blood pooling in his head, fuelling his blush, and it was only by the grace of the beer Holster kept him supplied with that he kept his cool. Lardo was suspiciously silent during the whole thing, but she had that considering frown on her face, and Bitty was afraid to ask.

By the third period, Jack scored a hat trick, and as the hats rained down on the ice, Bitty watched as Jack turned and pointed his stick toward where Bitty was sat.

He was fairly sure he ascended to some other plane of existence.

He didn’t come to until Lardo leant over Holster’s lap and smacked him on the thigh. “He’s going to send some PA to come get you after the game.”

Bitty blinked at her. “I’m sorry?”

Lardo rolled her eyes. “He just got you a fucking hat trick. I don’t know what the hell you two talked about over bags of pastrami, but yeah. He’s going to send for you after the game. You’d better prepare yourself.”

Bitty refused to believe her. Jack was just fucking with him for acting like such a moron during the queue for sliced meat. There was no way he…

“Excuse me, is one of you Eric?”

Well…this was it. This was it. This was how Eric Richard Bittle died. RIP Bitty. You lived a good life, made some good pies, did plenty of keg-stands.

“Yeah, that would be this fucker right here,” Ransom said, jostling Bitty.

The guy looked bored, annoyed, but also maybe vaguely amused. “This is for you. Jack Zimmermann said you can meet him in the tunnel after the game. Just give him half an hour for a shower and press. If you meet me there,” he pointed in the direction of the stadium exit, “I can take you.” Then he shoved a badge at Bitty who took it with trembling fingers.

Both Holster and Ransom were vibrating with excitement, but they kept it in until the guy was gone before bursting out with, “HOLY FUCKING SHIT, BITS IS GONNA GET HOCKEY ASS TONIGHT!”

“Can you two shut the fuck up,” Lardo said, but she was also smirking. “And anyway, I told you so. Ford is going to shit. She’s going to be so pissed off she wasn’t here.”

Bitty sank lower into his seat, and tried to pretend that for the last ten minutes, Jack Zimmermann still wasn’t sneaking glances at him.

*** 

Bitty was nearly shaking as waited for the crowds to disburse a little, and when he finally found the PA, he was only showing an illusion of calm. Most of the corridors were deserted, and they slipped through as set of Employee Only doors which was even stranger. They passed a few people who gave them the, ‘hello’ head-nod, and soon enough they were pushing through another set of doors which led to a large room with a few tables, chairs, and a TV in the corner.

“He’ll be out in a sec. He texted.” The guy waved his phone at Bitty, then turned and walked out.

Bitty felt seconds away from choking on his own tongue, then nearly jumped out of his skin when the second door at the far end of the room opened, and Jack walked in. He looked more like the Jack from the Deli Counter than Jack the Hockey Captain now. He was wearing jeans and a Henley, his hair wet from his shower, and as he approached, Bitty got a whiff of a woodsy smell.

He was still so attractive Bitty wanted to cry, but that feeling was eclipsed by the nerves of having to explain himself.

“So uh,” Bitty said, then scrubbed a hand down his face. “I wasn’t stalking you,” he blurted.

Jack blinked in surprise, then laughed. “I know that. I mean…I guess I didn’t know that, but most people who might want to stalk me probably wouldn’t make casual conversation over deli numbers.”

“Ah. Hah. Right,” Bitty said, scuffing one foot along the carpet. “I should…probably explain.”

When he dared look up again, Jack had one eyebrow raised, his arms crossed over his chest, but he didn’t look angry or even confused. At most he looked mildly curious.

Bitty flushed again, mortified he even had to say this. “I thought I knew you.”

Jack blinked. “You thought…”

“I mean,” Bitty said in a rush, “I thought we’d been introduced before? Like…by a friend? I didn’t know you were uh…” He waved his hand up and down Jack’s body. “I mean I did know, obviously, since I recognised you, but I didn’t know from where, and I have this friend who’s an artist and she sometimes gets models and I…” Bitty took a breath, feeling a bread of sweat trickle down his temple. “What I’m trying to say is I thought you were someone else, and I made an ass of myself in the supermarket.”

After a second, Jack chuckled. “I thought you were just flirting.”

“Oh my god,” Bitty said. “I…was?” He then realised he was talking to an athlete who was probably straight, and felt panic twist in his gut. “I mean, I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I mean, surely you know you’re attractive and I just…am going to shut up now,” he finished lamely.

Jack’s smile didn’t fade, and he took a step closer, making Bitty’s breath hitch. “I was flirting too. I normally don’t, but I liked your accent, and you’re good looking. And you cook Jewish food.”

Bitty froze, eyes wide as he tried to process what Jack was saying. “You’re…but…I mean you’re. In the NHL.”

“Yes,” Jack said slowly.

Bitty dropped his voice. “Are you out? Because lordy, if I put you at risk or anything…”

“They call it an open secret. My team knows, the organisation knows—pretty much everyone in the NHL knows. I’ve never gone public with a boyfriend.”

“So you’re gay,” Bitty said.

“Bi,” Jack corrected with a shrug. “And maybe it was forward of me—I mean, I didn’t mean to make _you_ uncomfortable by asking you back here but um…” He looked so adorably shy all of a sudden that Bitty wanted to kiss him. “I was kind of hoping you might want to get dinner with me some time. After I left you the other day, I was kicking myself for not asking for your number.”

“Oh,” Bitty whispered, and when he saw Jack’s face fall, like maybe Jack thought this was a rejection, he darted forward, boldly touching Jack on the arm. “Honey no. I mean…I mean yes. I mean, I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Oh,” Jack breathed out, then his grin was back. “Okay. Okay, good. Let me just ah…” He dug into his pocket, then pulled out his phone. It was almost as adorable as how shy he was, the way he fumbled with the screen, but he managed to create a new contact, then made Bitty wait as he sent a text.

 **Hi** , it read, with a little smiley face.

Bitty bit his lip to keep his grin from splitting his face in half as he texted back a little kissy-face. “So. Now we have each other’s numbers.”

Jack nodded. “So we do.”

There was another silence, not nearly as awkward as things had been before, and then Bitty said, “Was that hatty really for me?”

Jack’s cheeks pinked, but he squared his shoulders and said, “Yes. It was. I was hoping if I scored a few goals for you, you might say yes to the date.”

“This boy,” Bitty muttered under his breath, then took a step forward and held out his hand. Jack, after a moment, took it. “I would’a said yes, even if you hadn’t scored the goals. But it was nice.”

“Good,” Jack said, then reached behind him and unhooked something from his belt loop. It was a hat, it turned out. A Facloner’s snapback, and he eased it over Bitty’s head. “I saved this one for you.”

It was too much. Jack’s hand in his—warm and soft, and wonderful—and the hat perched on his head because this man who had met him for all of ten minutes in the deli queue had remembered him, and thought of him, and was so excited to see him at his dang NHL game he scored three goals for him.

Bitty was in big trouble. The best kind of trouble, but it was still big. He hesitated, then said, “Any chance you wanna try part of that date tonight?”

Jack glanced round, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I’d really like that.”

This time Bitty let his grin go as wide as it wanted, and he squeezed Jack’s hand. “Alright, sweetpea. Let’s go.”

*** 

“…and that’s how we met.” Jack gave a shy glance over at Bitty who was tucked up against his side, their hands tangled together.

The interviewer was trying to hide her grin, but failing miserably as she stared at the two of them. “That’s…” She stopped, then laughed. “I mean, that might be the cutest story I’ve ever heard.”

“Lord, it was so embarrassing,” Bitty groaned, letting his head flop against Jack’s shoulder. “I mean, it ended well, obviously, but for that short while I thought I was going to literally die of mortification.”

“And now it’s been five years, you’ve been married for two. Your blog is a wild success, and Jack’s just starting his first year of captain after the trade.” She clicked her pen, then said, “I think it’s a great piece. Thanks for letting me have it.”

“He loves telling this story,” Bitty grumbled. “Trust me, it was no trouble for him at all.”

Jack laughed, loud and brash as he yanked Bitty close and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You love it, too. Don’t lie.”

Bitty rolled his eyes and shoved at Jack who got up to show the reporter out. It only took a couple of minutes, then he was back, flopping onto the sofa and bossing them round until Bitty was blanketed on top of him, their noses touching.

Jack’s hands went to Bitty’s hips, squeezing before dragging them up to brush through his hair. “You know I love you, right? You not realising who I was is the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

Even five years later, Bitty still blushed, leaning down to kiss Jack gently, sweetly. “I know, honey. It’s the same for me. I mean, less embarrassing for you but…” He shrugged, then let Jack tug him in for another kiss. “Here we are, right?”

Jack smiled, holding on tight. “Yeah, bud. Here we are.”


End file.
